The insignia of the Galm Team, a red hellhound tearing at it's chain, appeared onscreen as Brett Thompson spoke.

"My pulse raced at the astounding accomplishments of the mercenary known as 'Demon Lord'." He said. "I forgot about my job and read everything I had on hand."

The screen changed, this time showing the country of Belka, with the south west highlighted.

"Around the time 'Demon Lord' received his nickname, South Belka showed signs of weariness regarding the war." Thompson explained. "Because the region was set up as a defence line to protect the birthplace of Belka in the north, the people's dissatisfaction had reached a climax."

Now the screen switched to show a Belkan flag, the black white and yellow flying against a grey sky. While viewers looked on, it was slowly lowered to the floor as army trucks drove off carrying soldiers.

"The cities declared themselves demilitarized, and peacefully surrendered to the Allied Forces. Unable to establish a defensive position, the Belkan Army kept retreating to the north. The end of the war was fast approaching."

A new topic of conversation was created by the camera now focussing on a desk covered in CD discs and files marked 'Osean Air Defence Force'. A laptop was open, showing the OADF website.

"I was given an opportunity to interview the former aces of the Belkan Air Force." Thompson changed the subject. "Back then, they were the masters of the sky, and they had also known him. So I crossed the border to follow his trail." The camera now switched to a panorama of Oured Grand National Station. "I wanted to capture the war and the 'Demon Lord' from their point of view. To capture the voices of those who were there."

A black background. White writing faded into view. It read:

Interview #01
The Strategist
Sudentor, Belka
15 Oct, 2005

Suddenly it changed to show another insignia, one of a green owl.

"Bernhard Schmidt, the man with the eyes of an owl." Thompson introduced his first interviewee as acoustic guitar music played softly in the background. "Grun Team Commander, former member of the Belkan Air Force 10th Air Division, 8th Tactical Fighter Squadron. Fighting with distinguished service on the battlefield, he earned the title of 'Ace' with his uncanny ability to adapt quickly to the flow of battle."

Schmidt was sat in a booth at a fast food restaurant. He was dressed casually in black slacks, a green jacket and a black hat. "I had a bad feeling while I was flying towards the Round Table." He said with a voice that was clear and easy. "Why were they having problems downing two mercenaries? I figured it was just temporary chaos and would be over by the time I got there. The pilots of the Belkan Air Force are true professionals." He smiled as he spoke the last line. "But when I saw the situation, I couldn't believe my eyes."

Rare unseen footage in black and white showed two MiG-21bis Fishbed fighters bearing the marks of the Belkan Air Force climb to intercept two Eagles. One banked hard but was destroyed in a ball of fire.

"I thought maybe my IFF was malfunctioning." Schmidt continued. "There were still two enemies on the radar. Everyone else in my squadron had the same reaction. This is really happenin'."

He leaned forwards, resting his elbows on the table and began to explain the sequence of events that happened that day.

"Every now and then, guys like that appear on a battlefield. "Someone special, y'know? I squinted my eyes and confirmed the situation. Checked the terrain, air currents, his plane, his manoeuvres and his remaining ammo. I figured I could do it. I knew what I was getting into, but he still outmanoeuvred me beyond my expectation."

The screen went black, before more writing in white faded from the darkness:

Interview #02
The Fallen
Directus, Ustio
13 Sept, 2005

The insignia of the next ace, a yellow and black cormorant in a green field, appeared above the name of the pilot, his squadron and squadron details. All of which were read out by the reporter while the same soft acoustic music accompanied the introduction as before.

"Gelb Team's number two, former member of the Belkan Air Force, 5th Air Division, 23rd Tactical Fighter Squadron. Rainer Altman. He flew the skies of Directus during the capital's liberation. And he's still there to this day."

Sat at a desk crowded with photograph frames, was Altman. The orange sunset flooded in through the window, bathing the right side of the man in gold and leaving the other in shadow. The man spoke slowly and carefully.

"I met him above this very sky." He began. "I can still hear the sounds of the missile alerts from that day."

Another map appeared as the ex-Belkan Air Force ace spoke. It showed south Belka and the Hydrian Line as well as Ustio and Directus. "I received an order to fly to Directus on my way back from an intercept mission on the southern defence line. The order itself wasn't unusual, we kept being deployed from one mission to the next without receiving even the basic maintenance. But the situation was the same all around."

The camera was back in the darkened room, and focussed on the old bell tower just out the window in the distance, silhouetted by the dying sun.

He continued. "We were late reaching the operational space. The stationed squadrons had already retreated, and warning bells were going off in the city. And the people were looking up to his plane high above the sky."

Altman sat up straight as he recalled his battle with the Demon Lord. "It felt like he could see right through me he was always one step ahead of me. As soon as I thought I was in a good position to attack, he would break and then he was behind me. And then I couldn't shake him. He matched every combat manoeuvre I made until I used up every trick in the book! I couldn't see any emotion in his manoeuvres. I didn't feel like I was fighting against a human being. The never ending sounds of the missile alerts put fear in my heart for the first time." He took a deep breath as he relived the air combat that had took place almost nine years ago. "I wanted to end that battle as quickly as possible."

More blackness, and more writing signalled the third interview. This time, the small writing read:

Interview #03
A man who lived for battle
The state of North Osea
7th Sept, 2005

Then as before, the insignia of the interviewee appeared above his name and details as he was introduced by Thompson and the usual soft music. The insignia this time was of a duck smoking a cigar while wearing a black leather jacket.

"Schnee Team Commander." Thompson read. "Former member of the Belkan Air Force, 22nd Air Division, 4th Tactical Fighter Squadron. Erich Hillenberand."

"He never had any great ambitions, all he ever hoped for was to make a living as a regular pilot." He explained. "Today he works as a flight instructor for civilian pilots."

The third pilot was obviously the older of all interviewees. His short hair and trimmed beard had turned stone grey, and the wrinkles in his forehead were beginning to show. He sat upon a workbench in his black and white uniform. Visible out the large window of the ground floor room was a flight line with a small number of light civilian aircraft.

"The instant he shot me, I pulled the lever, I barely managed to escape from my plane before it burst into flames!" He said with a small laugh, showing his good humour.

The camera panned B7R. "After drifting from the blast, I landed below the Round Table. It was a wide open, barren wasteland." He described. "How long would I have to wait for a rescue party?"

Back to Hillenberand in his office. "Radio interference within the Round Table was fierce." The old pilot continued without missing a beat. "The odds of a distress signal actually reaching anyone was low. I was at a loss for what to do. Anyway, I'd really gone out with a bang this time! I took that as a sign it was time for me to retire." He said with a smile and a small shake of the head. "But just then, I heard a roaring overhead. It was his plane. I was jealous of his calm flying form."

"Rather than wait for the rescue team, I began to walk toward the nearest base. I was driven by desire to get back up there and fight him again! Of course, it did take me three days to get there!" Both he and Thompson laughed.

Now the programme focussed back on Solo Wing, sitting on the single stool in the war torn room holding his AK-47 against his shoulder.

"Every time I flew with him, his skill stood out. He was unstoppable." He shook his head slightly. "It didn't matter where the battlefield was, the man had complete trust in his own powers. He was born for battle. He would ascertain the situation in an instant, and change the tide of battle. But he was also cool headed and proud. A combat professional." Solo Wing adjusted his grip on his rifle before continuing. "It was no wonder they called him 'Demon Lord'. The name fit him perfectly. He was born for combat."

A quick showing of a tattered statue of a woman, clad in robes and holding a spear while pointing onwards. The Goddess of War.

The man's eyes never looked at the camera, but focussed on the reporter sitting behind it. "Before long, everyone had taken notice of him. More and more would show up to watch him go off on sortie." He looked away as if jealous. "Mercenaries or maintenance crew, it didn't matter. People wanted to burn his image to their memories."

"Hell," The pilot gave a quick smile. "They weren't the only ones."